Late yesterday afternoon, on the first really warm day we’ve had this spring, I put on shorts and a tank top and ate dinner on my deck at the back of my house. Months ago, I reported in this blog the magnificent view from my deck. In back of me is a circular pond, maybe two hundred feet in diameter, half filled with water reeds. All around it are trees of every variety and size concealing the houses of my neighbors built all around the pond.
During the fall and winter months, with the trees leafless, I could see the neighboring houses, all far larger and more grandiose than my humble split-level. I took several walks around the pond and verified that these houses were indeed far more imposing than my place, but none of them had a view of the pond because they were blocked by the trees.
My view is more beautiful than ever. This past winter and especially this spring, we’ve had more rain than usual. As a result, the trees have leafed out in shameless glory. When I sit on my deck, the green of the leaves all around me is like a cry of joy. The predominant hue is a medium-light vivid green, with lighter and darker shades shimmering in the background. This is life writ large.
As we proceed through the spring into summer and the months become warmer, the green will darken, lose its youthful glee, and become more passionate. Then, with the return of autumn, the leaves will turn color and fall. I will be reminded that death, too, is part of life.
So my view and the passing of the seasons are a portrayal of life itself. I see before me in miniature a mirror of my own life, with its beginning, middle, and end, written in resilient green.